


Randy and His Dad

by Hello_Spikey



Category: Buffy the Vampire Slayer (TV)
Genre: Amnesia, Incest, Magical Accidents, Multi, Spanking
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-06-18
Updated: 2013-06-21
Packaged: 2019-10-11 03:54:12
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 13,480
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17439452
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Hello_Spikey/pseuds/Hello_Spikey
Summary: The "Tabula Rasa" spell isn't broken and hijinks continue when Randy bunks on his dad's couch.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> OKAY! So, I was chatting a while ago with my dear friend Ash and it occurred to me that the Buffy fandom is just utterly lacking in proper opportunities for incest.
> 
> *cough* Because... yeah, that would be, um, bad. Right.
> 
> Therein came this idea. The wrongest idea for a Spiles fic ever!! Spike/Giles during a somewhat extended "Tabula Rasa". BWA HA HA HA
> 
> This first part, however, is mostly Giles/Anya and other Tabula-Rasa pairings.

“Here it is! And here we are.” Alexander pointed at the street map they’d laid out on the table. “That’s not bad, actually. Walking distance. So I have a home to go to.” He turned to Willow. “Are, um, do you live with me?”

Willow shrugged. “I don’t know. I mean… I must have a dorm room.” She looked at Tara.

“Me too,” Tara said, stepping a little closer to Willow.

Randy paced the front of the store, hands in his pockets. “Would you all figure this out a little faster? The night’s nearly over and we don’t know if I’ll burst into flames if I’m not in a coffin or something.”

“I highly doubt that,” Rupert said from where he sat with Anya in his lap.

“Doubt? But you don’t know, do you?” Randy advanced on him, scowling. “Some father you are. Can really tell you care if your son burns to death! And after I saved all your sorry lives.”

“Hey, I was in on that,” Joan said.

“We all were!” Alexander added. “And why again do we have a vampire?”

Randy jerked the lapels of his tweed jacket straight. “To save your sorry arses. There’s clearly a bit of a vampire problem around here and we decided to fight fire with fire.”

“Unless you’re the fire we’re fighting,” Joan said.

“Oi! It’s bleeding obvious I’m a good guy! Wearing tweed, aren’t I?”

Joan shrugged. “Just saying. We don’t know why any of us were here, together.”

Anya snuggled her head against Rupert’s shoulder. “Can’t we go home now? I’m exhausted and this place still smells like rabbits.”

“Of course, dear.” Rupert stood, picking Anya up. She giggled and snuggled closer. “Alex, since you have a home address, you’ll be putting up Willow and Tara for the night. They can call the university in the morning and get their campus addresses.”

“What about me and Dawn?” Joan asked.

“The more the merrier,” Alex said. “Let’s just hope I don’t live in a one-room efficiency.”

“Wonderful. We’ll all get a good night’s sleep and meet here again in the morning.” Rupert shifted Anya’s weight in his arms – she was getting a bit heavy – and moved toward the door.

Randy got the door. Rupert smiled and thanked him. But then Randy was walking alongside him.

Rupert got a bad feeling about that. He cleared his throat. “And where will you be staying tonight, son?”

Randy looked at him like he was daft. “My coffin in some cemetery crypt. I’ll just look for the tombstone that says ‘unloved son’. Where do you think?”

Anya frowned at him. “You have to have your own place. You’re fully-grown. And dead.”

“And fully-grown sons don’t pop in when they’ve had a sudden downturn? Like death?”

Anya said, “Grown sons earn income. I’m pretty sure I care about that.”

“I bet you do.”

“Oh for…” Rupert set Anya down. “Assuming I have a couch, Randy, you are of course welcome to it. Now both of you stop squabbling and help me find my car.” He shook some keys out of his pocket and squinted at them, briefly. “I believe I have a… Mazda?”

A resentful silence accompanied the mercifully short search for the car, and despite muttering about mid-life crises, Randy slithered into the tiny backseat with enthusiasm (and surprising dexterity.)

“This is just the sort of car a man I would marry would buy,” Anya announced, bouncing a little on the passenger seat.

As soon as they got to Rupert’s home, which he was relieved to see was tasteful and spacious, Randy took off, opening doors and sticking his nose into everything.

“Well look – a couch,” Anya said, pulling Rupert across the room to the stairs. “Good night, Randy. I recommend you fall asleep quickly as we plan on making a lot of noise.”

Randy popped right up from inspecting a desk drawer, his eyebrows practically over his hairline. “Oi! You’re not married yet.”

Rupert felt his face heating up. “Now, dear…”

Anya hurried them up the stairs before another argument could start.

***

The next morning, feeling sore in every possible way and astounded at the vigor and athleticism of his gorgeous fiancé, Rupert took his time about waking up.

He was sad to find Anya wasn’t next to him, but somehow it felt right, waking up alone. He didn’t doubt she was an early riser and he a late one.

Pulling on his bathrobe, he went in search of the shower. Alas, the bathroom was not on the second floor.

He found Randy sitting on the sofa, scowling at a thick leather-bound book, shirt collar unbuttoned and sleeves rolled up. He appeared to have slept in his clothes.

“Is Anya about?”

The scowl deepened. “The tart went for a walk to explore the neighborhood. Something about assuring your real estate investment was wise, or maybe not listening to me insult her anymore.”

“Please do not refer to my fiancé as ‘the tart’.” Rupert spied a kitchenette and went to it in hopes of caffeine. He’d gotten two cupboards opened and closed when he heard Randy behind him.

“Over the stove, right-hand side.”

Randy slouched inside the doorway to the kitchenette, hands in his pockets.

Sure enough, the tea things were over the stove. “You seem to have found your way around.”

Randy’s voice was husky. “Oh, was I supposed to be sleeping?”

Rupert was too shagged out to care and continued filling the teakettle.

“Anyway,” Randy sighed, “you were right. I don’t live here – there’s no other bedroom.”

Being pre-caffeine made Rupert irritable and the self-pitying note in Randy’s voice made him uncharitable. “It’s entirely possible you weren’t welcome here at all.”

“No, I can smell myself here.” He frowned at a door off to the right. “Mostly in the bathroom, oddly enough.”

“Wonderful. I have an adult son who comes home to shower.”

“And eat,” Randy nodded at the refrigerator. “You’ve got bags of blood in the freezer.” Softly, he added, “Suppose I’ve been a vampire for a long time?”

The poor lad sounded miserable. Rupert handed him a cup and saucer. “We of course have no way of knowing, just yet. Take that to the table, would you?”

Randy set the saucer down and then turned a chair backwards to sit in it with his arms folded on the back. “I found a couple books on vampires. Seems like you’re a bit of an expert on the subject.”

“Given your condition, I’m not surprised. What father wouldn’t try to learn all he could?”

Randy looked away, uncomfortable but smiling a little bit. “Yeah, well…” he coughed and looked at Rupert, serious and concerned. “They all say there’s no such thing as a good-guy vampire.”

Rupert set down the teapot. “Perhaps you’re the first.”

Randy sucked in his cheeks, nodding. “But we don’t really know that, do we? I could have been plotting to kill you all.”

Rupert scoffed. “Young man. With no memory at all, you were clearly moved to protect us, not kill us. Our actions define our character, not whatever it says in a many-decades out-of-print book.”

The small smile was back. “They are bloody ancient,” he said, “worse than your record collection.”

“I don’t know what’s in my record collection,” Rupert countered with amusement, “But if I did, I would tell you they are all certified classics and your young mind just isn’t prepared to appreciate them.”

***

When Anya returned from her reconnaissance of the neighborhood – which took a little longer than initially intended because there were shops nearby – she found Randy and Rupert sprawled on the floor in front of a bookshelf full of LP’s, cheerfully arguing the merits of various bands.

“Ut-oh,” Randy said. “The trophy wife’s home.”

Rupert scowled. “Stop calling her that.” He started to get up, but the combined effects of a vigorous night and sitting cross-legged on the floor for too long had him teetering. Anya rushed to help him. Rupert almost fell over the couch trying to extract himself from unwanted assistance. Randy stood off, looking embarrassed, and Rupert was quietly grateful for that sensible behavior.

Once he was standing clear, he straightened his robe and said, “Excuse me, I have to go salvage my dignity.”

“Toff,” Randy said.

“Hoodlum,” Rupert responded in the same half-fond voice.

Anya stepped over the piled albums to see Rupert to the stairs. “You two seem to have hit it off.”

Rupert blinked, rather surprised, himself, in hindsight. “Yes, I guess we have.”

“I’m glad.” Anya patted his hand where it rested on the stair-rail. “I’d hate to be marrying into an unhappy family. So, are you going up to the bedroom?” She bit her lower lip with an eager expression.

“Just to get a change of clothes so I can take a shower.”

“Oo. Shower.”

“Alone,” He added.

Anya frowned thoughtfully as Rupert ascended the stairs. “I’m worried there are drawbacks to a studly older man.”

With his attention on an album cover, Randy said, “It’s bad enough I have to listen to your horizontal mambo all night, could you please refrain from discussing your sex life in front of me?”

Anya shook her head. “I’m going to the shop. There’s money to be made there and it’s better than listening to you.”

“Yes, please kindly piss off.”

“What is your problem with me?” Anya stuck her hands on her hips.

Randy looked falsely confused. “I don’t know, could it be you’re way the hell too young for him? It’s embarrassing.”

“You were all over Joan, and for all we know, you’re a million years old.”

“Obviously my dad’s not old. Maybe I’d like you if you were smart instead of just a gold-digging harpy.”

“That’s it. As soon as I find out if you’re in Rupert’s will, I’m cutting you out of it.” She stomped out of the apartment, slamming the door as she left.

***

Rupert came out of the shower, feeling refreshed and definitely more dignified now that he had clothes on. He found Randy alone, stalking around the room, opening drawers and cupboards. A resigned annoyance settled on him like a familiar garment. “What are you looking for?”

“Photos of Mum.”

“Photos of…? Have you gone mental?”

Randy pointed at the front door. “SHE is not my mother.”

“It should be as perfectly obvious that Anya is not your mother as it is that you are not a child. Stop behaving like one.”

Rupert got a very childish scowl in response and Randy stomped up the stairs. Rupert groaned, feeling a pinching behind his eyes he was sure he’d felt time and again when dealing with Randy. Some things you just knew. With a heavy sigh, he followed his son up the stairs. “Randy! For god’s sake, leave my things alone. Think how you are behaving.”

Randy appeared in the door to Rupert’s room. “Aha!” he said, brandishing a photograph.

The photo was singed in one corner. It showed a brunette woman seated behind a computer, in a tan cardigan, one hand up to ward off the photographer, laughing as her picture was taken.

Rupert took the picture and stared at it, feeling a little uneasy. He didn’t remember this woman, but he wanted to. “Where did you get this?”

“In a special little box you were keeping under the bed.” Randy stepped back so Rupert could see the cardboard box. A few rose petals and a peach-colored scarf had fallen out of it.

“She’s dead,” Randy said, awkwardly breaking the silence as Rupert stared.

“How do you know that?” Rupert picked up the scarf and a few more dried rose petals fell from it. In the box he saw a yellowed newspaper clipping and a floppy disk.

“Aside from the smell of tears and whisky? There was an obituary on top of the pile of mementoes.” Randy sat down heavily on the bed. “I just found my mum and she’s dead.”

“Grow up,” Rupert said, but it came out quiet and confused. He wanted to sort through the contents of the box, but not with Randy hanging over his shoulder. He folded up the scarf and laid it reverently back in the box, feeling like he was packing a grave.

Randy stared fixedly. “It’s awful, neither one of us being able to remember her. No one should be forgotten like that.”

Rupert’s hands smoothed the cover on the box. “Yes,” he said, quietly, and then cleared his throat because the emotional weight of the moment was getting to be too much. “Which is precisely why we are going back to the magic shop to meet the others and get to the bottom of this memory-erasure.”

***

When Rupert and Randy arrived, an animated discussion halted, four pairs of eyes riveted on them. Randy smirked and adjusted the lay of his lapels. “Well, this should be good.”

Willow and Alexander exchanged glances. A distressed-looking Anya stood between them, wringing her hands. “Rupert? Um… apparently…”

“You stole my girlfriend,” Alexander finished for her, smiling lopsidedly.

Rupert’s eyebrows popped up. “Excuse me?”

Anya hurried forward. “Alexander found pictures of me in his apartment. Or rather, pictures of the both of us, together, and lots of wedding magazines with my name on them. Oh, and registration paperwork for our wedding, and underwear in my size, including some pretty kinky outfits, and…”

Alexander coughed loudly, cutting her off. “The point is, I think we made a mistake assuming you and Anya were a couple.”

Rupert felt an odd mixture of sadness and relief. “I… I see,” he said.

Anya put her hands on his chest. “I just want you to know, although it was an illicit affair we both have to disavow, I really did enjoy almost all of the time I thought I was your fiancé. Mostly the sex. It was really, really good sex.” She then glanced at Randy, “I won’t miss having a step-son, but I’m sure your grating personality grows charming with less exposure.”

Rupert didn’t hear most of what was said for some time after that. Could you pass out from blushing? He sat while the children reported excitedly on the fruits of their trip to Alexander’s apartment, which included an address for Joan and Dawn, or rather Buffy, as her name turned out to be. “I still feel more like a Joan,” she said.

“What kind of name is that? Like a feminine hygiene product.” Randy switched to a mocking falsetto, “’Trust Buffy for your most intimate odors.’”

“We can’t all have a cool name like _Randy_ ,” Buffy countered, eyes narrowed. She and Randy stood and stepped toward each other, a charge of violence filling the air. (And, Rupert suddenly worried, something else. Did he want his son dating this woman? What did he know about her?)

“Calm! Everyone, stay calm. I’ve been waiting to use this,” Alex said. He grinned wide and dropped a Polaroid on the table. “Read ‘em and weep, Randy!”

Randy took one look and fell back in his chair with a horrified expression. This woke Rupert from his reverie. He leaned forward to see what had been so traumatic.

Randy held up two fingers in the washed-out shot, scowling angrily in a loud Hawaiian shirt.

Alex grinned triumphantly. “It’s good to know vampires are snappy dressers, just like in the movies.”

Randy gave an inchoate roar and lunged at Alex. There was a brief scuffle as Buffy pushed Alex out of range and punched Randy soundly on the nose.

Rupert felt an almost visceral dread. Had it all been just a flimsy charade, the son instead of the monster?

But Randy just stood there, hand over his nose, and said, “Ow! You cow. What was that for?”

“You went all bumpy!” Buffy still had her fists raised.

Randy felt his own forehead, but the bumps had receded. He looked around at hostile and angry faces, lastly at Rupert, who was anxious, but relieved no blood had been shed. For some reason, that made Randy look even more betrayed. “Oh sure,” he said, tugging his collar up, “don’t trust the vampire.”

“Randy, sit down. We have work…”

But Rupert’s quiet words were too little, too late. He’d stormed out of the shop shockingly fast, leaving the bell over the front door jingling in his wake.

There was a moment of silence. “It’s sunny out,” Buffy said. “Is that a thing?”

“It is,” Rupert huffed, remembering the difficulty they’d had that morning. They’d made it three steps out the door, saying “Oh, I guess it IS a myth,” when Randy had started sizzling like a steak on the grill. A quick dash and a blanket had saved him, but it had felt like a near thing.

“Good lord,” Rupert said, realizing that Randy could easily be committing suicide, knowingly or not. He dashed out the door, blinking in the bright sun, panicked. “Randy?”

He heard a quiet sniffle. Randy was sitting against the wall of the shop, in a narrow sliver of shade, arms wrapped around his knees. “Can’t even storm off properly,” he said, dejectedly.

“Come inside, son. They’re thoughtless, scared children, that’s all. We’re all in this together. There’s no denying that you’re as much a part of the group as any of us.”

Randy spoke slowly, staring at a random point in the road, like he was afraid he’d start crying again if he expressed any emotion. “You were looking like me like you were afraid I’d eat them all.”

“That wasn’t it.”

Randy fixed a look on him that seemed to pierce right through his soul. Rupert sighed and sat down next to Randy on the sidewalk. “If I worry, it’s because I care what others think of you. You’re my son.”

Randy wiped his eyes on the back of his hand. “You don’t think I’m some dark avenger doomed to a life of solitude because of my unnatural hunger?”

“Please. No son of mine would be so tacky.” Rupert put his hand on Randy’s shoulder. “You’ve proved yourself already. If you were really ruled by your hunger for blood, or evil in some way, you could have killed Anya and I last night in our sleep.”

“Ugh. And see my dad starkers?”

Rupert rolled his eyes. “Yes, I’m sure my physique is an adequate deterrent for homicide.”

Randy gave him a long, quiet look. “You’re all right, Dad.”

“Thank you. So shall we go in? Or do you want time to dry your eyes?”

“Oi! Wasn’t cryin’.”

“Of course not. And I didn’t need help getting up off the floor.”

Randy’s ears colored as he ducked his head. “Sorry. Just… look like a total ponce, don’t I? Don’t even know what I am.” He shook his head. “You know, you’re a much better catch than that Alexander. I bet Anya’s wishing they never found that engagement announcement.”

Rupert felt grateful to hear that. “You fancy Joan, don’t you? Er, I mean… Buffy.” He grimaced a bit at the odd name.

“Thought we had a moment, after defeating those vamps.” Randy frowned thoughtfully.

Rupert realized that he really was a very handsome young man, quite stunning when he got that sad, serious expression. How could he have ever doubted their relationship? He patted him on the shoulder. “You know, we may find out that you and she are engaged as well.”

“Dad, she hates me. Near killed me for going after her precious Alexander. And I wasn’t even thinking of hurting him. I just wanted him to stop laughin’.” Randy gave him a pained expression. “Do I really wear Hawaiian shirts?”

“One photo isn’t clear evidence that it’s a habit,” Rupert said. He stood and held out his hand. “But I do think it’s very likely you anger Alexander regularly.”

Randy smiled. “Too right,” he said, and took his father’s hand. Together, they went back into the shop.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The lovely story of Giles and his son Randy continues!

Maybe it was the night of engagement to the vivacious Anya, or it was simply having to say “Randy” all the time, but Rupert Giles was feeling very keenly the need for physical companionship. After a quiet night reading books on magic -- which felt like jumping in to a doctoral thesis without having done any undergraduate work in the area – Rupert and Randy had retired. But Rupert could not get to sleep and woke up in the middle of the night, painfully hard.

He’d already taken himself in hand when he heard a quiet creak on the floorboards outside his door. His breath caught and he held perfectly still, wishing fervently for the boy to go back downstairs and get to sleep. What was he doing wandering around, anyway?

Rupert watched two shadows move in the crack of his door, coming together, and then sliding back the way they had come – Randy’s feet. He strained his hearing until he heard a stair creak, and then heard the sofa springs in the front room squeak as Randy settled back down.

Giles relaxed, hand sliding down his length, setting up for a nice, lazy wank. He closed his eyes and conjured up a suitably motivating scene. Soft, pliant flesh against his own, adoring, beautiful blue eyes, pink lips opening against the head of his cock, a mischievous lick…

He was getting into the fantasy, hand speeding up. He imagined a saucy wink, a daring glance as he was swallowed down and…

Just as he was reaching his peak, he realized he was imagining Randy’s face. He tried to stop, to pull back from the abyss at the last moment, but momentum carried him over, and come spurted over his hand as a cold shame settled in his chest, leaving him exhausted, sweaty, and unfulfilled.

Worse, he couldn’t bring himself to go down to the bathroom and pass Randy. He cleaned himself up as best as he could using tissues and lay back, wondering and worrying and not sleeping.

In the morning, he had to peel himself from bed like a scab from a wound. Bleary-eyed and in no way in danger of thinking sexy thoughts, he shuffled into the kitchen.

Only to stop short at the sight of an equally sleep-bedraggled Randy leaning against the counter, coffee mug in both hands, shirtless.

Randy looked up from his mug and, after a pause, gave him a knowing smirk.

Rupert turned his full attention to the coffee maker – of course Randy was drinking blood, and hadn’t even considered starting a pot. Rupert set the coffee brewing in record time and fled to the bathroom.

Starring at his haggard face in the mirror, he recalled Randy’s uncanny ability to smell things – tears, month-old whisky in an empty glass. He turned the water on as hot as it would go and washed thoroughly.

When he came back out the flat was redolent of freshly brewed coffee and Randy had slicked his hair back into a severe shell, making him less dangerously attractive.

“You know, pops,” he came up behind Giles as he was pouring the coffee. “You don’t have to blush like a virgin and go take a penitential shower every time you squeeze one out.”

Rupert turned, sputtering, “There are things such as privacy, Randy. Just because you can smell something doesn’t mean you should comment on it.”

Randy’s grin only broadened. “Right. Let’s be properly British about it and pretend nobody wanks.”

“Yes, let’s.” Rupert’s teeth ached with clenching. He raised the coffee to his lips and forced himself to calm down and inhale the pleasant aroma.

Randy draped himself across the counter in front of him, running a hand down his bare (and extremely well-formed) abdomen. “Been living in a middle-aged porno for two days. I’m surprised it took you that long to succumb, after putting it to your fake fiancé for hours on end, you stallion, you.”

His fingers grazed the edge of his blue jeans, teasingly. There was a shadow of space between the rough fabric and his lively flesh. A fingertip slipped into it.

Rupert saw red. He didn’t even know what he was doing before he had both of Randy’s wrists pinned to the backsplash over the sink. There was a red mark on Randy’s cheek and his eyes were wide with shock and hurt. The violence of the moment made Rupert’s head spin.

“You’re hurting me,” Randy said, like he couldn’t believe it.

Rupert wanted rather strongly to slam the insolent brat harder into the counter, but some saner part of his mind prevailed and he let go, stepping back. As soon as he had some distance between them, he felt ashamed and foolish. Coffee ran down Randy’s chest. He’d smashed the cup into his face. It lay, broken, on the floor by Randy’s bare feet.

Rupert ran a shaking hand over his face. “I… I don’t know what’s come over me, I…” Looking up to see Randy still staring at him, he took the coward’s way out and fled back to his room.

He was, inexplicably, hard again. He wasn’t that sort of man. He was sure of it. The very idea! It was just that, without the proper memories, his subconscious didn’t recognize his son as family. Which, he was sure, he’d never be able to sufficiently explain.

Rupert dressed and sat down with a heavy magic text he’d been reading the night before. Going over his notes on possible memory-altering spells calmed him a bit, though he still felt – rightfully – like a coward in hiding.

A soft knock drew him from his studies. The door swung open gently, as if only slightly pushed, and Randy peered through the narrow opening. “Your ex is here. Says it’s urgent.”

“My ex?”

“We’re in the living room,” Randy said, and departed as quietly as he’d arrived.

With her usual forthrightness, Anya did not waste any time, standing up as soon as Rupert came down the stairs. “I’ve found a book on memory spells. It was in the shop’s inventory records.”

Rupert paused at the newel post, unsure how familiar he should be in congratulating her. “Why, that’s wonderful news. Excellent work.”

Anya flexed her fingers together nervously. “It would be good news, except the book is missing. It’s marked in the inventory as ‘checked out for research’. It’s not my hand-writing, or yours. I checked against other records.”

“I see.” Rupert frowned. “Well, perhaps we can find a record of our borrowing procedures, names of customers…”

“No you don’t see,” Randy said. His arms were crossed and he looked positively furious. “Written in a ledger behind the counter? This wasn’t a stranger. One of US cast the spell.”

 

***

 

Randy didn’t know a lot of things. How had he become a vampire? How old was he? Why was blood still kind of disgusting, even though he liked the taste of it? And what was UP with his dad? Something had crawled up his ass during the night.

But there was one thing Randy did know – he knew that when he found out which one of them had robbed him of his memories – even if it turned out to be himself – he was going to tear their arms off and beat them to death with them. (Which would be difficult, admittedly, if the culprit were himself. He sincerely hoped it wasn’t.)

In short order they were all seated around the large table in the magic shop, holding pencils and paper like participants in a grade-school exam. Anya stood over them like the proctor, holding the shop ledger. In the center of the table, printed out in 30-point bold, was the sentence “borrowed for research – back Friday”.

Randy had dashed his version off quickly and was pleased to see that his penmanship was excellent. Some of the others were being slow about it, and Anya was refusing to reveal the incriminating entry until everyone had finished.

“Don’t think about it,” Joan – correction, Buffy – said to Willow, who was frowning intently at her paper like it might bite her. “If you think about it, your writing will get all crampy and the test won’t work.”

Willow bit her lip and slumped. “Now I’m thinking about thinking about it.”

“For Christ’s sake,” Randy groaned, and leaned back in his chair. He caught his father’s eye. Rupert was standing by the wall, arms crossed, having been already eliminated from the running, like Anya.

Was Rupert looking at him like that because he was afraid Randy had done it? Or because he was concerned that Randy was concerned?

The whole thing was too much thinking and not enough doing something. Randy was fairly certain he was a man of action.

“Can we just look at the entry?” Willow asked, covering her paper with her hands.

“Of course not.” Anya looked at Rupert, presumably for backup. “That defeats the whole purpose of the test.”

“It’s just…”

Randy straightened in his chair, unable to repress a smile. It wasn’t him! “She knows something!”

Tara put her hand on Willow’s shoulder and leaned close. “Just write it out and we’ll check. We don’t know…”

“I found a note tucked into my day planner,” Willow said. She smiled. “I keep a day planner. Pretty regularly, it looks like. And… and there was this note.”

“You lot are going to kill me with suspense.” Randy snatched the book from Anya and held it up. “Five seconds, Red, and I open. So get scrawling. Five… Four…”

“Randy!” Giles cried out, and Anya started squawking about usurping her command, but Willow finally set pencil to paper.

Randy dropped the ledger down and they all looked at it. The air pressure seemed to go out of the room as everyone drew in a deep breath.

“It’s me,” Willow said. “G-g-god darn it. I knew it would be me.” She dropped into her chair, looking stunned.

Tara gave Randy a decidedly dirty look before turning to comfort her. “W-we don’t know w-why. It could have been to save us from something. Or- or…”

Randy leaned over the book, glaring at Willow. “So un-do it.”

“How? I’m not… well, I guess I am some kind of magic-spell-caster, but I don’t remember how!”

“If we can believe you.” Randy’s voice deepened to a growl.

Hard fingers dug into his arm, jerking him off the table. Randy was startled to see his father’s anger. “That’s quite enough,” he said. “We’re all in this together, Randy. Willow included.”

Randy was mortified, and felt an unreasonable urge to whine like a caught-out toddler. “But, Dad…”

Giles turned to the rest of the group. “We’re going to concentrate on what we can do to solve this. The first order of business is to find the spell Willow cast. It should be some place she has access to.”

“Tara and I searched all over our dorm room,” Willow said.

Randy suspected Tara’s blush implied a less-than-thorough search, but he didn’t want his father any angrier at him. He pulled his arm from Giles’ grip. “I can smell it.”

“I beg your pardon?”

“If it’s not in her room, or any obvious place, she’ll have hidden it somewhere she doesn’t normally go. So, if I smell her scent somewhere it shouldn’t be, we’ll know to look for the book there.”

Randy didn’t like the mixture of fascination and disgust on people’s faces. “It’s a vampire thing, apparently.”

Grumbling and arguments started, but Giles cut them off. “It’s a good idea. Randy and I will scout around town. Everyone else – search your personal areas. Any of us could be a collaborator in this.”

That quieted everyone down. Randy smiled. Finally, some action. Then he saw Giles waiting for him by the door with a face that would quiet a World Cup victory celebration.

“Right. Let’s do this,” Randy said, as coolly and professionally as he could muster.

***

Giles walked behind his son, letting him take the lead, stopping now and then, his head back, breathing in a complex story of scent known only to him. It was a reminder how alien they were to each other, and a little beautiful.

Mostly, however, he was seething with how embarrassingly childish his son could be. Had he not raised him properly? Or was it just that Randy couldn’t remember learning his manners?

Suddenly, Randy stopped, one hand raised. “Hang on a tic…” He broke into a jog through the gates of a cemetery.

“Randy!” Giles did not feel much like running at all. He sighed and gave pursuit. “Is it Willow? Do you smell the book?”

But Randy didn’t answer, only picking up speed. He stopped in front of a stone mausoleum, but only for a moment before ducking inside.

Giles caught his breath against the entryway and found, to his surprise, the interior of the tomb was kitted out with cast-off furniture like a vagrant had been living there. Randy stood in the center, holding a piece of black fabric up to his nose. “What is it? For god’s sake, Randy…”

Randy lowered the fabric; his expression was unreadable. “I live here.”

“Don’t be ridiculous. We’re in a cemetery crypt.”

Randy tossed the cloth, which appeared to be a t-shirt, onto one of the room’s two sarcophaguses and dashed into the space behind. In short order he had a bottle of whisky next to the shirt, and a pair of jeans and a belt. “It’s mine. Everything here smells like me.”

Giles was aghast – his son, living like a tramp in another person’s grave. “We… we don’t have time for this. We’re supposed to be searching for -”

Giles breath left him as Randy tore the shirt he was wearing off over his head, exposing his exquisitely formed torso. He then unceremoniously unzipped his trousers.

“Randy!” Giles turned his back. “You’re wasting time.”

Randy responded with a pornographic sigh of contentment. Despite telling himself that there was nothing but trouble involved in doing so, Giles turned to see. Randy stroked the waistline of the jeans affectionately. “Soft as butter,” he said. Giles, for a moment, assumed his words were referring to the gentle shadows dipping below the denim.

What was wrong with him? This was his SON. He should feel some instinct, some paternal fondness, sure, but he should not be imagining sliding his hand down that smooth flesh, nor should he be getting wicked ideas from the way Randy’s hands appeared bound for a moment as he turned the black t-shirt around to put on.

It took him far longer than it should have to realize Randy had spoken again and was looking expectantly at him. “I said,” Randy repeated, “Maybe I should come back here, tonight, instead of going home with you. Give you some privacy.”

“No!” Giles said, and coughed. “You’ll do nothing of the sort. This place is filthy and… and unsafe.”

“Dad,” Randy said, rolling his eyes, and Giles was grateful for the brattiness that hit him like a much-needed splash of cold water. “Nothing killed me in my sleep the last thousand times I must have slept here. And there’s all this cool stuff!” He brandished a half-empty whisky bottle as evidence.

“We don’t know… we don’t know enough about vampires and their weaknesses. You could have enemies.”

Randy’s expression softened. He stepped closer. “I- it means a lot, that you care. I… look, I know you’ve been pent up the past few days with me. I mean, let’s be honest, I’ve smelled it. You can’t very well bring a bird home with…”

Randy had come close enough now that they were just a few feet apart. His voice trailed off and his head tilted, a wondering expression on his face melting into a dawning realization.

Giles turned and ran. Not his brightest move, he realized as he stopped to catch his breath against the cemetery fence, but he still hadn’t come up with a better plan by the time he reached home, alone, and went straight to the shower.


	3. Confrontation

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Rupert behaves badly. Bad Daddy! mmmmmm. *cough* Ahem.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Good news for all the people asking, "Who are you and what have you done with Hello-Spikey?" This chapter has actual smut and a bit less fluff!

Randy had been pretty excited to find a whole trove of stuff – HIS stuff, after living all week like a refugee on his dad’s couch. But then… then…

He stared after his father’s fleeing form. A wide grin broke out and he laughed, loud and hard. There was no mistaking the deep, fresh arousal he’d smelled, or the embarrassment and panic that had followed it. His dad fancied him!

Randy straightened and ran a hand down his front, feeling the tight, firm muscle there. Well, why shouldn’t he? Randy had no idea what his face looked like, of course, but all the evidence at his disposal indicated he was one hot piece of dead ass.

And his dad was smoking hot! Fit and trim under those carefully bland suits.

Randy found a sweet leather coat with a pack of cigarettes in the pocket. One sniff of tobacco and he knew he was a smoker. His fingers remembered their business, deftly removing a fag and lighting it. The smoke filled his lungs with a wave of contentment. He blew it out slowly, relishing the scent, taste, and the sight of curling smoke. He supposed it would probably hamper his ability to smell, but then, the whole business of tracking down a book seemed utterly boring all of a sudden.

He strolled cheerfully toward home.

***

Rupert felt better, after he was alone in his own home with a cup of tea and a book in his lap. He sighed. This was how it was meant to be: quiet and solitude. Perhaps it was best he and Randy spent some time apart.

“Hello, Dad.”

Giles made a decidedly unmanly “eep” and jumped up to find Randy hanging over the back of his chair with a delighted leer. The tight black t-shirt gave him a decidedly more predatory look than the tweed suit.

“How-“

“Vampire stealth. It’s a superpower.” Randy then demonstrated another inhuman ability by slinking over the back of Rupert’s easy-chair in a decidedly boneless fashion. Before Rupert could back up half a step, Randy was standing against him, chest to chest, arms wrapping around him. “I can also hold my breath for bloody AGES.”

Rupert felt denim drag against the front of his trousers, felt Randy’s hardness against his own and for a moment was completely frozen in terror. Painfully aroused terror. Then he felt Randy’s soft lips against his own, opening, and a quick lick from a deft tongue.

Rupert pushed Randy with all his strength, sending him toppling back over the easy-chair, which fell with him. “How dare you,” Rupert said, shaking with rage.

Randy looked shocked and confused. “I-“

“You… your own father! What kind of depraved monster are you?”

Randy growled and jumped to his feet. “The same kind as you. You were all but panting after me not half an hour ago!”

“I was not.”

“I could smell it,” Randy stepped onto the overturned chair between them. “Don’t go over all virginal on me, Dad. Happens I think you’re gorgeous, too.”

Rupert almost smiled. “Really? I…” he shook his head, recovering his senses. “Go back to your crypt, Randy. You’re not welcome here.”

Randy’s eyebrows lowered and he crowded up on Rupert. “You can’t just get rid of me.”

So Rupert slapped him, hard. Randy backed up, a hand on his cheek, eyes wide.

“Yes, I can,” Rupert said.

Randy scowled and shoved him, then cringed away, holding his head.

"Not even going to fight back? What sort of man are you?" Rupert circled around Randy and the downed chair. “Anything you think you sensed from me was your own making. You wantonly lounge about half-naked. Teasing me within an inch of sanity. You make these gestures… that thing with your tongue… you’re utterly without shame.”

“Wasn’t trying to tease you,” Randy said, frustration and anger mixing in his strained voice.

“You want to hit me,” Rupert said. He saw Randy’s fists shaking. “You want to bite me.” He struck with his closed fist this time. Randy backed up again, head turning with the blow. “You don’t even know what you’re doing. You’re a monster. A soulless, heartless monster.” Rupert struck again, both thrilled and annoyed that Randy didn’t fight back.

That thought sobered him. With an effort of will, he stopped himself from hitting, grabbing, touching. Rupert turned his back. “You’re no son of mine. Get out.”

Rupert knew, in a frustratingly aware portion of his brain, that he was being unreasonable and projecting his own shame onto Randy, but he couldn’t, not even in his own mind, admit the horrid fault he’d found in himself. He made his way to the liquor cabinet, intent on drowning away the lust and frustration and self-loathing.

He most certainly did NOT want to hear Randy crying. At his age.

He happened to glance back as he went to fetch ice for his glass, and see Randy hanging dejectedly against the wall, wiping his red-rimmed eyes.

It was ridiculous. A super-human monster should have no business looking like a kicked puppy. Still, Rupert felt a serious pang of conscience. He set his glass back on the cabinet and approached Randy, who, to his shame, flinched a bit when he got close.

“I-“ Rupert coughed, voice rough. “I’m sorry.”

“Know I’m being weak. Stupid. You’re all I’ve got,” Randy said, addressing his own crossed arms. “Don’t want to be all alone, not even knowing myself.”

“Shush. You’re not alone.” Rupert awkwardly attempted to hug him and, much to his horror, Randy melted against his side.

“You… you do like me, a little?” Randy asked Rupert’s shoulder.

“That’s rather the problem,” Rupert admitted. He sighed. “I have a theory. We- well, we don’t have our memories. The contact and familiarity that, that families develop which enforces the instinct against-“

Rupert’s voice cut off, all air leaving his lungs of its own accord as Randy kissed the side of his neck.

Rupert cleared his throat. “Don’t do that,” he said, hoping he sounded authoritative yet fatherly.

Randy looked up at him with tear-bright eyes. He didn’t say anything, just looked at Rupert with such openness and hope. Somehow, it seemed wrong not to kiss him. Just to make him feel wanted. Rupert intended it to be a chaste little kiss, a parental peck, but Randy kissed back, and clung to him, and opened his mouth, and he tasted of whisky and smoke and everything addictive and bad for you. And he felt so very nice – strong and lithe and pressing into every touch. Easy to hold. Rupert felt the power to think draining out of him as Randy’s hands stroked him through rough material and then fumbled his fly open.

Rupert chased after a foggy scrap of self-awareness, breaking off kisses with words. “Wait, wait… this… Ah!” Randy’s cool fingers were on his fever-hot flesh, making him impossibly harder. “No, wait – you… you’re very attractive, it’s true, but we have to remember – we have to… uh…”

Randy’s wicked tongue licked the roof of his mouth, and then he dropped. Rupert had a moment to wonder at the sudden lack of lips against his own when he felt them close around the head of his dick and then suck him in with a loud, obscene sound. Rupert stumbled forward, grabbing Randy’s shoulders for balance.

He should really, really stop this. Say something.

His cock told him to hang onto that thought for a minute or two.

This was his SON. This was incest. This was WRONG. He started repeating it to himself and somehow was thrusting shallowly in time to the words, which, he found to his horror, he was muttering out loud. And then he came, hard and fast and explosively, like he hadn’t since he was in college. It felt like he was gushing for hours while Randy licked it up, let it splash his lips and open mouth.

Now Rupert was the one leaning on the wall for support. Randy wiped his chin on the back of his hand and then cleaned his hand, cat-like, looking smug.

Rupert wondered how he could possibly get this genie back in its bottle. What had he done? What had he let happen? “That… that can never happen again,” he said, and was pleased how even his voice came out. He straightened. Now that he was moving again, his hands moved rapidly, tucking himself away and setting his clothes to rights.

“But,” Randy said, sitting back on his haunches. “You liked it. I know you did.”

“Get out.”

Randy’s eyebrows canted with hurt. “But-“

Rupert turned his back and resolutely did not look at him. “I mean it, Randy. Leave. Go back to your… that crypt. Now.”

It was foolish, standing there in the middle of his front room, staring at the back wall, but that is what he did as he heard Randy get to his feet.

“Didn’t you like it? Did I- I didn’t do it wrong, did I?”

He sounded helpless, anxious to please. A certain dark place in the back of Rupert’s mind squirmed in delight and Rupert clenched his fists all the tighter. He couldn’t turn around. He couldn’t speak. He was afraid of what he’d say.

There was a rustling. “I’ll just go, then. If that’s what you want. Just tonight. Or – I wanted to leave anyway. No reason to hang around here. A bloke needs his space. Right?”

It felt like ages before he heard the door open and shut, before he could relax. He sank, shaking a bit, onto the sofa. The room should look like it had been devastated by a hurricane; instead he had one toppled armchair and a glass of melting ice.

Slowly, he set about tidying up, feeling like a sleepwalker. He picked up a book that had been left on the sofa and turned it over in his hands. “A Practical Treatise on Vampire Behavior”.

He sat down on the sofa, unable to do anything but stare at the cover and wish he knew something about how his life had gotten so messed up.

****

Giles peered cautiously into the shop window, confirming no sign of a bleached blond head before he slipped in the door. Most of the group were gathered already around the large table in the back of the shop. He tried to sound casual, like his usual self as he greeted them. “So how goes the search for the book?”

Tara held up a small, unassuming volume. “We found it.”

“Oh thank Christ.” He sank into a chair. “We’re saved.”

“Not exactly,” Willow said, with a grimace. She flipped through a spiral notebook. “I mean, yes, we found the book, and even the spell – the page was marked and had a note in it and everything! ‘Lethe’s Bramble’. But… still no idea how to undo it. The spell doesn’t say.”

“So we’re back in research mode,” Alexander said, gesturing at the table full of books, though it appeared that he wasn’t doing any research himself, unless the comic book he had in his lap counted.

Buffy looked up with a miserable expression. “If I have to read one more thing full of ‘ye’ and ‘thou’, my head will literally explode.”

“There is a distinct lack of indexes,” Willow said. “But I already started a list of books with magic antidotes in them, and Tara and Buffy are skimming those for mentions of ‘Lethe’ or ‘bramble’.”

Rupert nodded and straightened in his seat. “Very well, hand me one, and I’ll join the search.”

He had scanned four or five pages when the cheerful bell of the shop door announced a new arrival. He held his gaze on the page, unseeing, and fervently hoped it was Anya or Dawn.

“Hey, nice new look, Randy,” Alexander said.

Randy swung himself up on the counter. Rupert saw it as a blur, keeping his eyes on his page.

“Yeah, turns out I’m a bit punk rock,” Randy said, proudly. “Finally found my real place so dear old dad can wank in peace.”

Rupert found himself frozen like a rabbit in front of a wolf, every sense waiting to hear what Randy would say next – if he would say something about the night before.

Randy said, “So what’s on the agenda today? Any plans that don’t involve reading dusty old books?”

“Alas, no,” Alexander said. “Big on the ‘alas’.”

“We found the spell!” Tara offered. “So really we’re halfway there.”

Rupert watched another black blur as Randy dropped off the counter. “Right. I’ll leave you eggheads to egg about, then.”

“Hey, we need all the heads we can get.” Buffy cleared her throat. “I mean – if I have to read this stuff, so does he. Doesn’t he, Mr. Giles?”

Rupert slowly closed his book and forced himself to look up. Randy’s face was hard, insouciant. He’d put on black eyeliner that accentuated the unnatural pale of his skin. He looked like he belonged on an album cover. “I-if you wouldn’t mind.”

“I would mind,” Randy said, head tipped back. “Ta.” He turned on his heel and marched out the door.

There was a general eruption of complaint.

“Go after him,” Buffy said. “Give him some fatherly talking-to.”

Alexander snapped to his feet. “I’ll go. I’ll convince Randy to come back.” He shook his finger, walking to the door. “It might take a couple rounds of beers, but I’m willing to make the sacrifice.”

Feeling like he was moving in slow motion, Rupert shook his head. “No, no I’ll go.” He looked down at the book in front of him, delaying the moment as long as possible.

The only thing he feared more than confronting Randy was that someone else would.

He was just about to hope that Randy had gotten far away and would be unable to be caught when he saw him slouched in the bus shelter across the street, smoking a cigarette and watching him.

Rupert crossed the street as a condemned man approaches the electric chair.

“Come to fetch me?” Randy asked, looking amused.

Rupert stopped a respectful distance in front of him. “I think that we should do our best to work together as… well, like adults.”

Randy shifted his shoulders against the back of the bench. “Oh, I thought we were very adult last night, don’t you?”

Rupert felt blood rushing to his face. “Can we just… forget?”

“No,” Randy said. “Thing of it is, you left me high and dry, didn’t you? Got your end away and then it’s wham, bam, thank-you, Randy.”

Rupert quickly took a seat next to Rany on the bench – which wasn’t easy as Randy was sprawled over more than half of it – and leaned close. “Can we not talk about this?”

“Easy for you to say. Your balls aren’t robin’s egg blue.”

“I’m your father!” Rupert’s voice echoed in the bus shelter. He cleared his throat and tried to speak more quietly and reasonably. “After you left, I read that vampires are, well, lacking in what you might call a moral sense. It seems that-”

“Oi!” Randy fixed him with an incredulous stare. “You sat down and _read a book_ after I sucked your cock?”

“Could you try saying that a little louder? They didn’t hear you in Argentina.”

Randy, insufferably, rolled his eyes. “Look, Dad, I understand, yeah? People don’t go around fucking their kids. I’m just having a hard time understanding why it’s a bad thing, in our case. I mean, it’s not like you can get me pregnant. And we don’t know what our relationship was like, before.”

“It wasn’t like this!”

Randy half-shrugged. “Well, we don’t know that, do we?”

Rupert just barely held in check his desire to throttle the boy. He fixed an angry glare on Randy until he dropped his eyes. Rupert then spoke very slowly and firmly. “We will never discuss this again, and it will NEVER happen again. Do you understand me?”

For a moment, Randy just looked at his cigarette. Then he glanced up, and there was that startling vulnerability again. “I won’t say anything. I won’t come on to you. I get that you don’t like it. I’ll even pretend I don’t want it if that helps.” He shifted closer. “But I do want it. I want you. And you want me, I know you do. Why should we deny ourselves?”

“Because it’s wrong!”

“That’s just words. It doesn’t mean anything. ‘It’s wrong!’” Randy exhaled loudly and threw up his hands. “Poverty’s wrong. Rain during a football match is wrong. Doesn’t stop it from happening.”

They were seconds from causing a genuine scene. Rupert stood. “You are fundamentally incapable of understanding the simplest social norms. It’s pointless even to argue.”

Randy scowled. “Love isn’t pointless.”

Randy’s scowl deepened into anger as Rupert gaped at him in horror that he’d brought the conversation to such a place. Rupert sputtered. “Naturally, we-we’ve become somewhat attached. We can only remember a few days and we spent those together, but…”

Randy jumped up and pushed Rupert with both hands. All the air left Rupert’s lungs and his hip hit the sidewalk painfully. Randy was shockingly strong and Rupert felt fear and anger in equal parts as he quickly got to his feet again.

And saw Randy crouched on the ground, holding his head. There were tears glistening in his eyes when he looked up between his hands. “Why did that hurt?”

“You attacked me!” Rupert said. “On the street. In public. How could you?”

“Dad… my head feels like it’s going to crack open.”

“It should. Now are you going to help with the research or aren’t you?”

Randy slowly got back to his feet and looked pleadingly at him. “Please don’t make me. That shite is worse than schoolwork.”

Rupert was starting to worry about this strange headache, but then, his books had said that vampires did not succumb to disease. And the last thing he needed to do now was coddle the boy. Lord knew how he’d take that. “I most certainly will. Come back with me at once or… or you’re grounded.”

A corner of Randy’s lip lifted, and then he was laughing. “Grounded?’

Rupert sighed. “I know it sounds ridiculous. What do you expect me to say? Now come on.”

“Or you’ll spank me?” Randy offered in a silky purr.

“No,” Rupert said, as much to himself as Randy. “I most certainly will not.” When Randy whined, he added, “Unless you’re very, very good.”

“Yes, Daddy,” Randy said, making it the dirtiest phrase in the language.

Rupert told himself he’d had no choice but to play to the vampire’s sick desires to keep him in line, but he couldn’t deny he liked the way Randy playfully bumped against him, the violence and confrontation all forgotten.

And a devious part of his mind was replaying the memory of a slick tongue and needy gasps. It was wrong, very very wrong. But he would keep it safely locked away in his mind where no one, not even Randy, would know. And if he ran through those memories once in a while, that too, would be his secret shame.


	4. A Well-Deserved Spanking

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is quite possibly the porniest chapter yet! (Yay!)

When they returned to the magic shop, Randy walked straight up to Alexander. “Hey,” he said, tapping the boy on the shoulder. “I want to check something. Hold still.”

“Sure buddy, uh – OW!”

“Bugger!” Randy held his forehead again, leaning on the back of Alexander’s chair, that is until Alexander pushed it back and sent him off it.

“Why’d you hit me?” Alexander demanded.

“Told you – testing.” Randy stepped back and looked at Rupert. “Now I know it’s not just you.”

Buffy insinuated herself between Alexander and Randy, arms crossed. “Wasn’t just you that _what_?”

“This.” Randy stepped around Buffy, smacked Alexander in the arm, and they both cried out, “Ow!”

“Randy, stop that,” Rupert said.

“Every time I hit someone, I get an awful headache,” Randy said. “Wasn’t as bad just then… think it’s harder the more I mean it.”

Buffy frowned. “So you’re… what? Allergic to violence?”

“But I beat on those vampire blokes a dozen times and didn’t feel a thing.”

“Maybe it’s a spell!” Willow chimed in. She looked excited. “A spell preventing him from hurting people.”

Randy snapped his fingers. “Unless the cause is just! But… wait a tic, why would anyone DO that. To me?”

“So we could keep our pet vampire on a leash,” Alexander said, obviously pleased.

“Because you were going to hurt someone,” Buffy added, looking at Randy with new suspicion.

“Was not!”

“Really? Then how did you find out?”

Randy looked from face to face. “But he was being a dick!”

Rupert rubbed the bridge of his nose. “Can we please get back to undoing the memory spell? I’m sure we’ll have all the answers then.” Randy looked ready to try hitting more people, so Rupert quickly added, “Randy, since you’ve had such a strange ordeal today, you are of course excused.”

“Thank Christ,” Randy muttered with poor grace and made a break for it before anyone could say otherwise.

***

It was a long and irritating day, keeping the children on task, arguing with Anya about which of them was the ‘primary’ partner in the store and what that meant. Finally, in the wee hours of the morning, Dawn (who had joined them after school let out) jumped up with a cry and read, “This and other herbal incantations, such as **Lethe’s Bramble** and the Heart of Sage can be broken in the following way!”

Willow and Tara scrambled to look at the passage. Alexander and Buffy woke up from where they’d been ‘reading’ with their eyes closed.

Rupert felt faint. “Are you sure? Is it genuine?”

“I-I think so,” Tara said.

Willow nodded excitedly. “It’ll take some interpretation, but I have my notes to go off of. We should be able to do this.”

After some excited discussion punctuated with yawns and eye-rubbing, it was agreed that Tara and Willow would start work on the spell cure first thing in the morning.

Rupert hardly noticed how he got home. He stumbled through the door half-asleep and didn’t even register that the lights were on and music playing until he heard, “’Bout time you showed up.”

Randy was sprawled on the sofa, a book in his hands. “I was about to give up on you.”

“What on earth are you doing here? I thought we agreed..” Rupert sighed. “Just… good night, I’m too exhausted to argue.”

Randy made an annoying ‘tsk’. “Typical. You promise a spanking and don’t deliver. It’s a pattern, old man. Like in here where you’re writing about how you blew off some Council of Watchers business go to a concert with Ethan.”

With one foot on the first stair, Rupert had to stop and turn back. Randy held the book close to his face, apparently absorbed. “It doesn’t _say_ that you two were shagging, but it’s heavily implied.”

“What are you reading?” Rupert asked, suspecting (and dreading) the answer.

“Your diary,” Randy said cheerfully. He peeked over the cover. “You’ve got loads of them all in a row. Thought I’d start with the first. You’re twenty-two and a bit of a hellion. Way to go, pops!”

Rupert snatched the book away from him and stared at it. “Watcher’s Journal of Rupert Giles, Volume One” was written in a neat hand on a pasted card on the front.

“Oh,” Randy added in a less-pleased tone, “And you belong to some secret society bent on wiping out vampires.”

His past. All there in strong black ink. He turned pages, feeling the impression of the words. Then he noticed the dog-ears. “WHEN did you find this?”

“Couple days ago. I only just got to the interesting parts where you stopped being all stuffy and school-assignment-like and started writing what you really think. This Ethan’s a good influence.”

Rage banished exhaustion better than coffee. Rupert closed the book and hit Randy’s head with it. “When, precisely, were you going to mention this?”

“Ow! Was going to tell you. I just...” his voice got very quiet, “wanted to see if I’m in there, first. You know, read up to my birth. Just to know. If I was wanted.”

He looked so adorably miserable that Rupert felt a sort of pause in his anger, but the offense was too great. “You asked for a spanking and right now I’m very tempted to give it to you.”

“Really?” Randy asked with an eager grin.

Which just tore it for Rupert. He dropped the book onto the side-table and hauled Randy off the couch by the front of his black t-shirt. He saw clearly the moment when Randy realized this was not going to be a fun sort of beating and his smile faded.

Rupert shook him. “You think it’s funny, do you?”

“N-no.”

Rupert felt a thrill at the tremble in Randy’s voice, and that made him all the angrier. He knew he wasn’t the sort of man to get off on another’s fear. Not normally. It had to be Randy’s doing. Some vampire trick. He punched him. Randy twisted from his grasp, gaped in anger, and threw a punch back. It didn’t connect. Randy fell into a crouch, holding his head.

Rupert picked him up and shook him. “You want to know why someone would put a spell on you? Because you have the self-control of a child!”

Randy shivered, but was otherwise still, waiting. Rupert shoved him and he caught himself against the arm of the sofa.

“Didn’t mean to hurt you,” Randy said.

“You couldn’t begin to hurt me.” Rupert unbuckled his belt and pulled it free. “You’re getting that spanking you asked for. I suspect it’s twenty years too late.” He folded the belt. “How do you want it? Standing? Over my knee? Bare arsed?”

Randy shifted uncomfortably. “I’m a grown man, Dad. It was only a joke.”

“You clearly aren’t grown enough to know better.” Rupert sat down, on the edge of the easy chair so there was room for Randy to drape across his lap. “Now come here or you’ll regret it.”

Randy hung back, and Rupert started to worry that he’d gone too far, and also that he had no idea what punishment he could mete out worse than the humiliation of being spanked like a toddler. He kept his gaze firmly on Randy, though Randy’s eyes were on the floor. Slowly, he stepped forward. “All right,” he muttered. “Was my idea, anyway.”

Then, to Rupert’s surprise, he dropped his jeans to mid-thigh before draping himself over his father’s lap.

Rupert stared for a moment, frozen, at the smooth globes of Randy’s perfect ass. He set the belt down on the chair arm and laid his palm on one cheek. It was cool and satin-soft. Rupert coughed. “This isn’t a kinky game. It is a punishment and I hope from now on you remember not to violate others’ privacy.” He raised his hand and brought it down, not quite as hard as he’d intended. Randy shifted, settling more comfortably, and asked, “Is that all?”

Which was good, because it reminded Rupert how angry he was. His second swat resounded and left his hand crawling with stings. Randy jolted forward a bit before settling back. “Ow,” he said.

“Shut up. Or count, if you must make noise.” Rupert smacked him again, and again, and tried not to notice how pleasingly the flesh gave and sprang back. He smacked each cheek and then aimed for the center, then lowered his hand down to hit the softest curve of the underside. His hand was getting hot and handprints were starting to darken on the creamy flesh. He paused to shake out his wrist.

“Is that-“

He smacked Randy hard to stop him from asking that again, but his hand was beginning to feel like and resemble raw hamburger so he picked up the belt. Four smacks and he got into a good rhythm, painting every surface. Randy was flinching away, now, squirming a bit and trying not to. He hit low on the thighs and got a yelp. Randy had been just laying there, but now his arms were taut, pressing his hands to the floor like he could transfer some of the shock. He stiffened in anticipation of each blow. Rupert could pause just a moment and catch him relaxing.

He knew he wasn’t thinking about punishment anymore.

Rupert’s shoulder was aching and purple was blossoming where welts criss-crossed. He dropped the belt. The buckle chimed against the floor. He ran a hand over the mottled skin, feeling the pattern of roughness now imprinted there and the uneven heat of friction.

He was achingly hard, his cock pressed firmly against tight muscle that was shaking in a pleasant, uneven way, feeding the heat inside him. He was rocking his hips a little, unconsciously, into that teasing sensation.

That was when he realized Randy was crying.

Coming back to himself, Rupert touched Randy’s shoulder, and when he didn’t respond, he lifted him, turned him. Randy slipped from his lap to the floor. His face was streaked with tears, his arms out behind him to take some pressure off his bottom as he sat, legs akimbo. Above his bunched jeans, his cock was red and swollen. His eyes were lowered, his cheeks blushing fetchingly.

Rupert dropped after him, like he was pulled. His knees landed between Randy’s and he fell forward onto him. Randy cried out as extra weight pressed his sore ass to the floor, and Rupert tasted salt on his open lips.

Rupert couldn’t lie to himself. He wished he could. He knew that what he was doing was wrong, and that the wrongness itself thrilled him. The scent of tears, the filthy feeling of being on the floor, all tangled up in the constricting, rough denim of Randy’s jeans. Everything was hard and rough but the pliant skin against the head of his cock and the tongue against his own. Randy kissed back with fervor, teeth clashing and making greedy little whimpers.

When had he undone his flies? He didn’t know, but he did know his naked flesh was starving for contact and his pants were annoyingly in the way.

Rupert dropped his head to catch his breath and felt Randy’s lips on his cheek as he said, “Come on, fuck me.”

Rupert’s blood-deprived brain couldn’t come up with a compelling reason not to, and his fingers were already finding where he needed to go. Sweat had made skin sticky, not slippery, but he had barely the patience to lick one fingertip while Randy pressed against him, struggling to get his jeans the rest of the way off.

The head of his cock dragged against the too-tight opening and redlined his lust. He burst through resistance and slammed home, hips fetching up hard against hips. Randy cried out, face contorted from the pain. Rupert leaned into him, leaned into the sensation of wrongness that was slippery under his skin, and thrust hard, chasing a hot, sticky pleasure that ravaged his senses.

“Maybe that’s why I keep you on a leash,” Rupert said, grinding slowly and enjoying every emotion on Randy’s mobile face as he relaxed into it. “Still going to pretend you don’t want it?”

Randy, for his part, pushed into each thrust with needy groans, his abused flesh slapping harder than Rupert had punished it before. Randy’s eyes were wide, his pupils blown, but his expression very aware, almost worshipful. Rupert pressed him, forcing his legs farther up and apart until he heard Randy cry out in pain, and then he just kept the pressure up – there was something dark and angry in him, and he could feel it taking over, narrowing his vision and blocking out the damage he was doing to his own joints, fucking harder and harder, nothing mattering but the glowing white-hot pleasure that built and built and built until it tore open, spilling white over his vision and senses.

Everything blanked out for a moment, and then Rupert was gasping, sweating, and slowly becoming aware of a thousand small things, like the rawness of his knees on the wool carpet and a pain in his lower back, and the way Randy’s thigh was adhered to his side with something like glue.

Randy said, “I… think I dislocated something.”

With a hiss, Rupert forced himself to crawl backward, off of the boy. He as a mess, splattered with come and blood. His left leg was far too high and straight. Randy wriggled, flopped like a fish, and it fell with a loud pop. “OW,” he said, emphatically. He fell back, staring at the ceiling while his sweat-slick chest rose and fell.

“I hurt you,” Rupert said. He covered his face with one hand.

“Sh. Dad, don’t.” Randy pulled his hand back down and kissed him, gently. “Don’t,” he said again.

“I am so, so sorry,” Rupert said, but Randy just kissed him again.

“Let’s go to bed, yeah?”

Rupert let Randy lead him up the stairs and crawl into bed with him. He was super-humanly exhausted and fell asleep quickly, pillowed against Randy’s muscular shoulder.

***

Rupert woke to warmth and contentment, momentarily free of any memory at all, only aware that there was a gorgeous young man looking at him with sleep-tousled hair and adoring eyes. He was still tired and wanted more sleep, but a thigh was rubbing against his awakening cock.

Randy nuzzled his neck, lips finding the softest point behind the ear. “Morning, Dad.”

And… there was reality. Rupert groaned and pushed Randy away, or rather tried to. His limbs felt heavy and slow. “Randy…”

“Yes, you are.” Randy chuckled, fingertips walking down the length of Rupert’s hard cock and then massaging it into the smooth skin of his thigh.

“Stop that,” Rupert said, knowing how insincere he sounded.

Randy leered. “Make me.”

Rupert rolled over him, pinning him to the bed. Randy looked very pleased at that, indeed, but Rupert kept his face and voice stern. “This can’t happen again. Don’t you understand?”

Randy sighed and tilted his head to the side. “I love you,” he said. “That’s all I need to understand.”

“What could we tell the others? Anyone?”

Randy pretended to consider for a moment. “How about, ‘bugger off and mind your own business’?”

“It’s the wrong kind of love, Randy. We’ll regret this, don’t you see? When our memories come back.”

“Love’s never wrong, Dad.” Randy smiled, so unashamed and sure. His legs felt cool and smooth wrapping around him.

Rupert could feel himself giving in. It didn’t help that his needy dick was pressed between their naked bodies now. “I… I feel ashamed.”

“Don’t,” Randy said, and drew him close to kiss. “Lay it all on me. The blame’s on me.”

“It isn’t.”

“Sh.” And then Rupert couldn’t talk more, not with another tongue in his mouth. He shivered with self-disgust and need in equal parts.

Somehow they just slotted together, like puzzle pieces, far too easy to be right. He groaned and bit the flawless shoulder under him. Randy shivered, then, and twisted around to lock onto his mouth in gratitude.

***

“And what these hands have done, now undo.” Willow glanced over at Tara. “Is that it?”

“And the herb,” Tara pointed at the candle between them.

“Oh, right.” Willow held the tiny bundle of dried leaves to the flame. At first the flame licked around them, but then it flared and Willow dropped the bundle. It disintegrated with a flash and an “eep” from the witch.

Willow locked eyes with Tara. Memory returned all in a rush. “Oh… oh poop,” said Willow.

***

Rupert loved this. He loved the crinkle between Randy’s brow and his hiss at the pain mixed in the pleasure. He loved the tight flesh squeezing him and the smooth flesh under his hands. Randy rocked into the languid thrusts, kissing and caressing whatever he could get his hands on.

He was getting close. Eyes locked on eyes, together in every way. “Son… oh, I… I lo-“

Something shifted, like a sliding door in his mind. Giles felt the ‘v’ of ‘love’ forming on his lips while he gazed down at Spike.

Spike’s eyes opened very wide. “Oh FUCK!” he said.


	5. In Conclusion

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> And here it is! The thrilling conclusion!

Spike twisted, the sudden movement nearly dislodging Giles as the vampire tried to escape. Giles angrily grabbed him and slammed him back into the mattress – coincidentally re-seating his cock firmly in the sweet, tight confines of his ass, but he wouldn’t mention that, except that he groaned and flexed back for another thrust. He _had_ been close.

“You little shit. You seduced me.”

Spike squirmed again and Giles tightened his grip. “Bloody chip,” Spike grunted, jaw tight.

It seemed the most practical solution to finish getting himself off, so Giles started thrusting hard and fast. “Filthy, immoral vampire. You thought I was your father!”

“Hard to believe the righteous indignation while you’re reaming me, Rupert.” Spike grinned savagely and thrust back. “Dirty old bastard.”

Despite the friction, the sweat, and the delicious sensation of fucking, Giles found himself falling short of completion. He thrust and thrust until he had to slow down and take a breath.

Spike gaped at him. “Why you perv! You only wanted me when you thought I was your son!”

Giles glared at him and thrust particularly hard, making sure to grind down so Spike’s presumably still bruised backside felt the force. “You’re so annoying and idiotic with your memory back you’d cool off a lust demon.”

Spike raised one eyebrow, smirking. “Liar. I recall what you did when you thought I was your son. So come on. What will you do now, when you don’t give a fuck about me?” He tilted his hips, causing Giles to slide in to the hilt and gasp. “Guilt-free, aren’t I? Or is that the problem? You want a little filthy shame with your hard, dirty fucking?”

Blood red suffused the edges of Giles’ vision. His hips pistoned harder and harder, hoping to fuck the smirk off Spike’s face. He let go of his wrists to grab his shoulders and use the leverage to pound into him as hard as he could, hoping he caused damage, enjoying the feeling of tendons separating under his fingertips. Spike cried out, eyes squeezed shut, throat long and open.

Giles felt the spurt of come against his belly moments before he came himself, toes curling and hips seizing.

Disgust quickly returned on the heels of rational thought. Giles pulled out and stumbled, hips sore, off the bed. “Get the hell out of my flat.”

Spike propped himself up on his elbows and pouted. “Gosh, Dad, you make me feel so unwanted.”

Giles had the sudden, horrible realization that Spike now had some pretty juicy blackmail material on him, and no compunction whatsoever not to use it. He found his bathrobe and struggled into it, all the while keeping his eyes on the smug, knowing face of Spike.

Clearing his throat, he said. “It’s really interesting, to me, how long it took you to re-discover the chip. Almost as if your natural inclination is NOT to be violent.”

He knew he scored a point when Spike’s smile faltered. “Had a lot on my mind.”

Giles tied his robe and sat on the edge of the bed. “Seems to me you were rather a bit of a – what’s the word?” He turned to catch Spike’s eyes with a grin. “A pussy.”

Spike kicked his way out of the bed. “I was lulling you into a false sense of security! Any second I’d have ripped your throat out.”

“After you finished promising to degrade yourself any way possible in exchange for a scrap of affection?” Giles advanced on Spike and was pleased to see him flinch.

Spike cleared his throat. “How about we agree never to mention any of this, ever?”

“Agreed. Now, if you’ll excuse me repeating myself: get out of my flat.”

Spike nodded and did a poor job of not appearing afraid as he hurried to get his clothes on.

Giles let himself enjoy the sense of power. It was only after Spike left that he felt a bit of a pang of loss, which he squelched with whisky and the relief of having NOT committed incest.

***

Somehow, they all knew to come to the Magic Box at the same time. Everyone avoided each other’s eyes. Willow, especially, looked miserable. Tara was seated as far from her as possible, and pointedly not looking at her.

Giles felt pained sympathy mixed with his own anger at how foolish Willow had been to cast such a spell. He could tell, however, than any lecture at this point would not help in the slightest.

Xander was talking animatedly, trying to fill the silence with humor, but he wasn’t looking at Anya, either.

Anya approached Giles. “He knew we slept together before. Why is it different now?”

“More memories means more hurt, I gather.” Giles looked to the corners and crevices for Spike. Not finding him, he coughed, excusing himself – awkwardly like everything about this gathering – to check the training room.

He opened the door to find Spike and Buffy standing together, their hands on each other’s waists. They jumped back from each other, a little too flushed and embarrassed for Giles’ tastes.

Buffy coughed. “Uh… yeah, I was just… checking Spike for, uh…”

“Injuries,” Spike hurriedly chimed in. “Slayer got her memories back and wanted to get right to the training. Because she’s a dedicated one, your slayer.”

The seamless way they covered for each other made Giles more jealous and angry than any hint of physical intimacy he’d seen. “Buffy, I believe they need you in the shop.”

“For what?”

“Go. Now.” Belatedly, he grit his teeth and added, “Please.”

Buffy looked worriedly at Spike – and how frustrating was that! She was afraid he was going to stake him! But she went out into the front of the shop, leaving the two men alone.

“Slayer was just apologizing,” Spike said. “For things we said to each other when we didn’t know. Shouldn’t have to tell you how that is.”

“Don’t cover a lie with another lie.”

Spike started to speak, then stopped, exhaling hard through his nose. “Fine. Not going to sully your precious slayer with my evil, soulless body.” He stormed toward the door.

Giles stopped him with a hand on his chest. There was a tense moment of silence. “I’m leaving,” Giles said. “For England. It was… I had made the decision before we lost our memories. Buffy doesn’t need a watcher anymore.”

Spike stared at him a long second. “That’s utter, complete bollocks.”

Giles withdrew his hand. “I don’t care about your opinion.”

“Of course not. I’m not HIM, am I?” Spike shrugged his shoulders, his expression closing off.

Giles felt an ache straight through his chest. The foolish, insecure boy! And he knew that the fondness he now felt wasn’t going away.

“No. You _are_ the same man I got to know over the last few weeks. Under the bluster and façade you like to present. That’s rather the problem, isn’t it? Because now, I’ll have to look at you, knowing there is a form of good in you-“

“There bloody well is NOT.”

“-and I’ll have to face how far I’ve come from the watcher I once was. How unnecessary the watcher’s council is, here. We were never as necessary as the slayer herself. As necessary as we fooled ourselves into thinking.”

Spike stepped in front of Giles. “Don’t go. Buffy’s barely keeping her head above water. Willow needs your guidance. Do you really think this lot can get on without you? AND save the bloody world?”

“It’s time. Buffy needs to finish growing up, on her own.” He took a step back. “You all do.”

Spike grabbed his arm before he could leave, his grip firm but not painful. “Please,” he said.

Giles sighed and shook his head.

Spike’s lip curled up a bit and he lowered his chin and his voice. “Please, _Daddy_?”

Giles scowled. “You’re really daft if you think that will work.”

Spike took a step closer, his jeans brushing against Giles’ leg. “Someone needs to keep me in line, Rupert.”

Giles groaned, feeling the blood (and all sense) rushing to his cock. “You are a terrible influence.”

“I am. You ought to spank me.”

Giles was on the verge of letting go, turning his back and walking away. He had the children to deal with, and arrangements to make for his departure. But then Spike brushed his cheek against Giles’ cheek and added, in his silkiest purr, “Dad.”

Giles threw him against the nearest wall and kissed him hard. He broke off with a gasp. “I may have a kink,” he admitted. “Now shut up.”

“Yes, sir,” said Spike, and kissed him back.


End file.
